Evergreen
by vemod
Summary: "Gary catches your eye again. He's 22 as well but his 22 is not your 22. His 22 has been 22 years long while yours has been squeezed into 8 years and 10 months." How would you live your life if in was packed into 9 years? LEAFxGARY ONESHOT. First story, be kind!


**A/N: I am by no means an expert writer, and by no means perfect in aspects such as grammar, diction and word choice. This fanfic is in second person, because I feel like it's more relatable this way, especially since you will have a hard time feeling anything for this character. The events and the things Leaf chooses to write about may seem random and utterly pointless, but keep in mind the fact that her life is so short that everything to her has the same level of importance.**

**This story has only been edited once or twice for spelling errors and diction. As stated later on in the fanfic, Leaf writes this "story" in two weeks, meaning she just brushed through and wrote whatever came to mind in that moment.**

**I hope you enjoy. :)**

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Your name is Leafia Green. It's a couple weeks after a horrible accident that you've just been involved in. Although the doctor's say that the loss of your speech is a setback, you feel like you've reached an unattainable universe that has been locked to you. All your other senses are far more vivid, you see thousands of more colors, you smell everything around you, including the dust and the plankton in the doctor's fish tank. You can hear a baby's screams two floors down below you and can feel every intricate strand of wool woven into your wool sweater your mom got you.

But that's not the only thing that's changed since the accident. You vocabulary is far more greater and advanced than any 5 year olds you know. So when you go back to school the day later and you say that the agathokakological lifestyle you lead is similar to the spanish word saudade. Your teacher points out your drawing looks like Vincent Van Gogh's 'Starry Night' but retort to her that the style of crayon art you have made is 400 years before Van Gogh's, predating any mere idea the crazy one eared french man could comprehend. In addition, your work was modeled off of Van Gogh's 'Starry Night Over the Rhone'. Your teachers stare in shock, and you're sent to doctor. In those few hours you grow a couple of inches, your ponyta tshirt up to your belly button, your shorts cling to your body too tightly.

A medical professor does a couple of test, and your IQ is well about any 8 year, or maybe anyone for that matter. He tells your father that your brain is aging, your body is growing at a rapid pace. Everyone is in shock, but you agree. You call yourself the future of humanity, because you know you are. On your way back home you have to make an awkward stop with your father to buy pads, tampons and training bras. You past by Gary Oak, the playboy in your town. He pays no attention to you, but uses his Blastoise to utterly torture the smaller pokemon. You can hear its cries from miles away, and see blood dripping from the branches. You want to yell at him, you want to scream, but your voice does not carry. You walk up to him, but he pays no attention to you and tells you to fuck off.

A month later, and you skip to the 6th grade. Your history project on the different missions that the Spaniards made when they came to the United States is far more advanced, including a farm, real glass stained windows, and lights that go on and off when you put the little metal priest men on the right spots. It's a metaphor, you point out to one curious couple. The missionary thought they were the light of the world, yet they turned off the light of so many Native Americans through death and torture. You explain to them how you made a simple circuit from items in your home, putting one hand on a copper plate and another on an aluminium plate, making all the lights turn on. You win the 7th grade science fair a few days later you have to skip again. What you did was nothing, it was a simple a social experiment. The science of sharing, you say in your head, and motion towards a whiteboard where everything was written out. You used the students at your school as subjects, and proved they'd be more willing to help out someone more beautiful than someone uglier. The concept is simple, but the work and amount of effort, along with the theories you put in are college worthy. Professors from UCLA, Princeton, and Brown encourage you to continue this, and dive deeper. You shake your head, writing in a thick black marker that it was just a science fair experiment. All the other kids with their baking soda and vinegar volcanoes glare at you, annoyed by your intelligence. When you leave, they beat you, punch you and call you names. You can't scream, or make any noise when you cry, you just hope that the salt from your tears somehow ends up in your eyes as you fight them back. The teachers scold everyone, everyone except you of course. You can hear the children bickering outside, but your thoughts are only on World War 1 and the obvious details that would entail another War a few years later. The principal reassures everything will be alright but you don;t care because you know it won't and you won't be in this school ever again.

A week later and you're graduating from high school. Your father tells you to stay in on the Saturday, since you're sick but you sneak out anyways. Gary eyes you and asks if your new in town, because two months ago you didn't have breasts, long skinny legs or a pretty face. Casually, you pull down your short red pleated skirt and adjust your blue top, because the way that Gary looks at you makes you want to throw up. Does he realize that I'm 8, you think in your head as you push him to the side, still aggravated by the fact that he was torturing those poor pokemon a month ago. He follows along side you, so you jab two fingers into his throat and run away. The professor gives you a pokemon, a Bulbasaur like you've always wanted. Gary comes running in and you run out, clutching the new life in your hands. You name her Evergreen, because you can see so many more colors of green on her than the normal human eye and you know her life will forever be green while yours will have a pinch of green here and there.

You've graduated college, earning a Bachelors degree and working towards your masters. You stand 5'7 now, your eyes meeting your father collarbones and he cries. He buys you your favorite chinese food and you hold your tongue because you don't want to comment how lacking the soy sauce is in this fried rice or how the vegetables in the egg roll are not authentic at all. You can smell the perfume and the sriracha sauce from the table behind you. Your dad emails his friends when he gets home, tells them the news of your graduation and you sneak out again. There is really no need for you to sneak out since your 22 now but with a youthful face and smooth skin you look 13. Gary catches your eye again. He's 22 as well but his 22 is not your 22. His 22 has been 22 years long while yours has been squeezed into 8 years and 10 months. He asks you what you summarize your life and you do it with one word, expansion. Gary tells you that it's destiny and quotes Edward Bulwer Lytton of how destiny is but an excuse to blame all the wrongdoings in the world. Although its suppose to be an insult you laugh and pull out a scrap of paper, telling him that Edward Bulwer Lytton was an author who is periodically made fun of all the time due to his complete lack of complex dication. You continue to laugh as Gary leads you with him to his apartment and kisses you. You wait a few minutes, hearing only your heart pounding and hammering out of your chest. You want him to kiss you again and he doesn't, but then he finally does. The smell of his cologne, of his room and the leather bean bag is something so new and so addictive to you. You make love on those black bean bags that remind you of the color of oil and your orgasm is a feeling similar to what a dog feels when you take off it's leash and let it into the wild. If this is love, you decide to keep it a secret, since you'll die too soon to treasure it.

You have an "Ask Leaf" column in the New York Times, and you get questions from college professors, doctors and housewifes. They request a TV show but you deny every time since you're mute. You find it pointless to do all of this anyways but you do it for your father who beams at you everytime he takes a letter you've written and runs out to the mailbox on his way to work. A month passes by and you skillfully avoid Gary but he comes knocking on your door a few weeks later, asking for 'advice'. Your father is startled, yet honored to have the grandson of our country's professor here. He asks you about life and death, and you tell him that you can't fully understand it since you could die any second. You call yourself the future of mankind, since we are killing our planet and the pokemon along with it. I'm eating less, using less, and doing less, you write furiously in a blue pen. You can hear Gary lightly bouncing his legs and begin to notice that his eyes aren't an amber like everyone says but actually a hazel, with brown being more dominant, mixing with the green to give a devious glow. He picks up for hand and leads you outside. You father gives you an all knowing look and you cringe at what he's implying. Gary tells you about his life, about an experience you will never experience but you want to experience on your own but can't. The way he describes his shitty life is so beautiful that you cry and under the tree he kisses you repeatedly, lips going numb. He takes you back to his apartment again and shows you all the photo albums he's collected. He tells you that he wants to be with you more and you agree but you know that any day now he can and will leave you for someone that he can be with. For once you feel envious of life, and you throw the photo album at his face. You apologize, face full of tears as you run out and scream at the top of your lungs, cursing the world and your destiny.

For your 9th birthday you turn 45, and you finally decide to go on TV. Your 2nd grade teacher shows off your drawing, but begins to cry when the yellow and orange blurs remind her of her husband lighting a fire and killing himself in their home. You try to offer peace, but what can a 9 year old mute girl do? Your dove laced with olive branches sounds like an albino pigeon chewing on grass as you tell her to essentially move on and live life. It's easy for you to say, but hard for her to comprehend as she storms out in tears. The camera is still rolling as a single tears escapes your eyes and the audience can't help but cry for you and your teacher. a woman stands up and tells you she can't cry because you will not live to be even 12 and your father retorts, saying that you will expand and then contract forever, your soul and spirit forever living in this world. It's a theory that Gary skillfully came up for you and told you and your father a few hours ago over lunch but you failed to tell him that the concept already coined and known as the 'Big Bounce'. While your father and the women argue you can't help but continue to hear your teacher cry and scream outside the building.

Again, Gary asks you about life and death and you shrug your shoulders, for once unsure of what to say. Your hair is gray and thin, your fingers weak but your skin smooth as its always been. He grabs a bag a popcorn and tells you that under special circumstances the bag will produce popcorn, but not everything will pop. He chews on the popcorn and spits out a seed, saying how the seed will go back into the Earth and become corn and end up in his hands again a few years later. You take the bag and toss it in the microwave and the corn pops coincides with the dogs barking outside and you laugh. Before you know it your clothes are off again and this time your orgasm has a flash. You're surprised, thinking it's part of the moment but Gary stumbles off of the beanbag and runs outside naked, chasing a man with a beanie and a camera of your picture. The police want to arrest you or Gary, but how could they? who is to blame? A 9 year old loving a 22 year old or a 22 year old loving a 53 year old? your father says nothing but just suggests you write an autobiography. You try to write it in first person and go into huge detail about every single waking day of your life, but Gary tosses it in the trash and says you should use 'you' because it's your story and your life and you're writing this story for them to know who you are. Gary says to go over what's important, since your life is fleeting with every word you write, but the thing is everything is important to you. Somehow, you finish the book in 2 weeks and the day later it's sold 1 million copies. The front cover is a picture of you and Evergreen that your dad took when you first got her, a dream you never got to develop but was a able to achieve. The back cover is of you at the age of 27 peeking through Gary's abnormal pastel pink curtains in his apartment.

You walk hand in hand with Gary and tell him that you believe your brain will kill you at its own weight. He lets go of you when he notices a Drifblim stuck in the tree. Instead of using hydro pump to beat it senseless he runs up and carries it down, asking you the name of the person who flew around the world in a big air balloon. You look at him blankly for a few seconds before uttering the name and Gary widens his eyes. You throw your previous idea of your brain destroying you and hug your head. At home, Gary tells you that maybe you'll return to being 8 and then go back to being 83 again and so on and so forth. You say nothing as he traces your spine, or as he cries himself to sleep. Your new Drifblim stays tied at your bedpost, and you look at his as it looks at you and you fall asleep. You become younger a lot quicker, this time a year every two or three days. You and Gary one night while your father is out getting Chinese food if you should tell him or not. He brushes your hair and looks at your healthy brown hairs. It's a hair dye, you tell him since you know the real reason might kill himself quicker than it kills you. You forget your US history, the names of your pokemon, the various religious groups that worship certain pokemon. You forget how to make a circuit, and what saudude means or even has to do with your life. When your father asks why the tampons were open you cry like the 9 year old you are in his arms and tell him everything. The Drifblim is now tied to your finger, you take it everywhere you go. The doctors just shake their heads and say sorry, your old high school teachers give you back graded test you've aced now full of red ink and zeros. You take your father, Gary, Evergreen and Drifblim out to a hill and lay at the stars, your face now soft, with tiny little teeth in your mouth. You look up at the stars that the crazy French Van Gogh once painted and cried, holding both Gary and your father's hands, squeezing thank you in morse code into their palms every 30 seconds or so. You decide that Vincent Van Gogh's stars were the best thing you've ever drawn or did in your life. You tell your father and Gary this, and they look at you in sorrow. Even though you won't last long, your drawing, Van Gogh's drawing, and these stars will.

Van Gogh wasn't so crazy after all.

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**A/N: Love it? Hate it? Let me know. I absolutely adore Leaf and GAry ship (not sure if its called LeafGreenshipping, OldRivalShipping or ConflictShipping, but I do like the other ones as well).**

**It was extremely hard to make Leaf seem super intelligent simply because I have no idea what thoughts and feelings of someone with high intellect would have on a daily basis. Throw in the fact that she's 9, or that she's mute, or that her sense of smell, touch, and hearing are all heightened... **

**p.s: Leaf doesn't speak, yet I use words like 'tell' or 'utter' etc to convey the fact that she's writing something down and showing people what she's written. To her, this is equivalent to her talking, so I didn't feel the need to say every single time "you are writing the words..." **


End file.
